


Thessalonians

by Di0nysus



Category: Preacher (Comics), Preacher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Bisexual Character, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-04 16:19:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15844917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Di0nysus/pseuds/Di0nysus
Summary: Tulip and Jesse being the local trouble makers, but hey, Eccarius isn't actually evil.Edit (8/9/18): Under major reconstruction, will be somewhat different from the original intended plot.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Updated fairly frequently (read: weekly).

The first time Cass has an inkling he may have a thing for the “other side” was when he’d met the pretty boy down the hall from his apartment back in ’22. That escalated into some Giovanni’s Room shit right there—a calamity which ended with Cass abandoning his bride-to-be and running off with a sailor all within the week of professing his love to the boy down that hall.

Being a vampire, however, relationship after relationship, gay or straight, ended with either heartbreak or death—hell, _both_ most of the time because its Cass for Christ’s sake, he’s always picked the wrong ones.

He hadn’t really thought about relationships since the drugs kicked in in the 50’s and he’d rode that high straight into a chapel in the middle of Texas. He’d admit it—Preacher man had a nice face, strong gate, but he knew he was trouble simply because he wanted to screw him. Not long until that girlfriend of his showed up, they’d fought off some baddies, summoned a higher power wannabe, and gone on a road trip.

Again, the idea of relationships was dropped. He’d picked up the drugs again at his son’s house—no longer his son’s he should say, since the kid died back in the noughties from lung cancer—and thus came the hookers. Now, after that faithful day where he’d been walked in on by Tulip in a murderous rage he’d promised to double— _triple_ bolt the door before he got down to business. This hooker was a beautiful, beautiful man, something you’d hallucinate after breathing led paint. Half way through their $200 session Tulip walks in again with a pinched look.

“It’s not wh’t it looks like!” he exclaimed without thinking. He earns a sarcastic “Oh really?” expression from her. “Okay, its plenty what it looks like—”

“Cassidy, I don’t care if you’re a fuckin’ donkey, keep the noise _down_. I can hear you from the kitchen.” She turns on her heel and adds with no change in tone: “Besides, I already knew.”

Afterwards, he shuffles awkwardly past the kitchen to the bathroom, avoiding eye contact with Tulip. He’s glad though, it’d admittedly be worse if it was Jesse who’d heard him—oh _Christ._ Showering quickly, he returns just as Jesse returns from God knows where, with a couple more blood bags and a new argument for him and Tulip.

Later, when the shouting’s died down, Tulip knocks on his door for a sit-down chat, along with a bottle of whiskey.

“So, you knew?” Cass asks sheepishly. He was nursing a hidden crack pipe he’d fashioned out of an old soda can. “Is it camp-ness? The fact I have the porn tats? I swear I’m not into your man—I mean, he’s good lookin’, don’t get me wrong, in a fuckable way too—wait, wait, wait—”

Tulip rolled her eyes. “I knew because I knew, you dumb fuck. Since Fiore. You’re not camp or anything, I just _knew_.”

“You knew I screwed Fiore?”

“No, but I do now.” She laughed. “Too bad you’re not into Jesse, could’ve had a threesome.”

Cass, knowing she’s joking, allows himself to consider the offer anyway. Tulip scoffs as she takes a swig from her bottle. She passes it to Cass. He realises then, in a sobering moment, that he’d never actually had a coming out. Homosexuality was only legalised since the mid 60’s, and even then, it was a tough subject, what with the “Gay Cancer” n all that. He pushes the overwhelming loneliness in his chest down to his gut, where it can be drowned in the whiskey.

“So, what about you?” He interrupts his own thoughts. “In it for the tribbin’ or the ribbin’?”

She makes a face. “I’m into men. Never found a woman good enough or a man bad enough to turn me.”

“Not how it works but sure.” He shakes his head, reflecting on his own homo origin story. “Once you hit 105 you tend to start experimenting. You ever seen a Caravaggio? Me first looked like that twink with the lizard. Fucking gorgeous lad.”

She laughs, then considers his words. “My first was Jesse.”

He snorts. “Sounds bloody romantic. No, ‘his body, like chiselled by angles’ n all that shite?”

“Oh please, Jesse had a retainer until college. He was a lanky freak until we started our ‘ _life of crime_ ’.” She laughed, she took in a good mouthful of whiskey and whipped her mouth with her sleeve. “You know what? He fucking missed the first time. Couldn’t figure out how to put on the condom.”

“Did he cry?” Cass chides, his face a façade of sympathy.

“He cried.” Tulip scrunched her nose before bursting into more fits of laughter.  
“God knows why you stayed with him.”

“Oh, I love him.” She sighs. “I love that dumbass of a man. Haircut n god complex n all.”

On cue, there’s a knock. Jesse enters with a look in his eye—analysing the proximity of his and Tulip’s legs on the bed, the various drugs lying about and—oh god—a used condom still left tied on the floor.

“Whiskey?” Tulip asks, extending the olive branch. Jesse takes it, swigs, and sighs through his nose.

“Didn’t know we were having a slumber party.” Jesse jokes, breaking the tension in the room. “I’d’ve brought brownies and ice cream.”

“Ha-ha. We were having a bit of a heart to heart.” Tulip takes the whiskey back. Cass panics for a moment, realising he is totally not ready for a spectacular outing. She senses this, however, and continues with, “Performance issues. Just sharing some of our stories.”

Both men bristle in embarrassment. Jesse almost steps back. “Uh, ‘our’ or ‘our’?”

“Oh honey.” She grins seductively. “Don’t get embarrassed! This is a safe place.”

“I hate y’both!” Cass groans, covering his face.

He crashes from his high about twenty minutes later, laying on his back and thinking about absolutely everything and nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come bother me on my Tumblr: di0nysus-is-key


	2. Chapter 2

Since the Coming Out, Tulip and Cass had been getting on well.

Their heart to heart led to very manly wine evenings after dinner watching shitty TV and talking about shitty exes. He’d feared, in a moment of intense insecurity, that he’d become the Gay Best Friend but tries to stop the thought from festering.

Later, when Jesse gets home, they sit out in the balcony and drink and eat for a while, chatting about foreskins because its important the word is spread. It diverts in many ways—unicorns, lizard people, the Cold War etc. because its Cassidy. Tulip and Cass start bickering over ice cream whilst Jesse watches them with a kind of fondness. The three throw back and forth until the sun begins to face the house and Cass heads inside.

He’s feeling good, elated, like he’s high but like that moderate high—a pill or something—as he goes to grab a drink. He reflects on how his life changed as he walks through the house.

He might’ve not learned French in his century-long life, but he sure knew that he’d failed Dennis; he’d stood over that crib in the maternity ward singing an old lullaby, a false promise of commitment which fooled both his son and him.

For his final birthday, Cass had sent him gifts. They both knew it was a selfish gesture—he was just easing his guilt, no need for his son to actually accept. He ponders for a moment, feeling the weight of his crackpipe grow heavy between his fingers.

One shot of it wouldn’t hurt, right? Sadly, he’s all out.

Cassidy decides instead to go out for a walk of sorts. Jesse and Tulip were hauled up in the living room watching crappy TV and sharing a beer between them, and they took no notice to him as he headed towards the door with umbrella in hand. He hopes he can find something to ease his anxiety or stop the shaking in his hands at least.

He grabs some tranquilisers from a surprisingly willing pharmacist, all it took was a quick one in the open storage room and a couple of twenties. He leaves feeling no better than before, his umbrella catching him much unneeded attention.

He was thankful to be Irish actually, at least he’d have a reason for it: I’m actually ginger, look at my complexion, etc etc.

Cassidy was an old man. He knew this; a century doesn’t just float by. You learn shit along the way and one of those crucial life lessons is you can get a man to do anything if he’s desperate enough. No matter the type: just desperate. In his case, he’d drank some real rank shit in his time.

There was another type of desperation too—acceptance. And oh god did he know a lot about that. Cass needed someone. He was facing the potential loss of Tulip, the only person he’d seemed to really click with, and Jesse, who…well, he wasn’t quite sure.

It wouldn’t be easy finding someone in New Orleans like him, and dating profiles are tedious—looking for a vampire, likes long walks on the beach (at night) and praying on virgins’ blood—cliché but when has he ever been unique?

Cass stumbled on his way down the street, not really going anywhere, but a nice sit down and a pint would really do him good. After he’d cleaned up and changed into something a bit more comfortable, he headed to a bar which was surprisingly nice. Cass ordered himself two whiskeys—well, whiskey bottles—and nursed them as if they were his last drink.

He notices then a man, dressed in period clothing, leaning against a bar table watching him. His eyes are heavy, dark, luring him in. But he doesn’t realise it; he just huffs and takes another swig. Good looking man, for sure, probably a nutter since he’s dressed like he’s about to burn a witch. Maybe he’s a cosplayer?

Before he knows it, the man’s approached him at the bar. His expression hasn’t changed—he’s got this smug alluring look about him like he knows Cassidy’d get down on his knees for him on command. I probably would, Cass thinks.

“You normally drink two bottles or are you with someone?” the guy asks.

Cass startles because that’s exactly what sort of voice that he’d expect. Smooth, deep, and oh god how much has he had to drink?

“Alone. More reason to buy double.” He says after clearing his throat. Wonder if he’s in for a quick fuck, the thought invades his mind and he decides through the clouds of intoxication that it might not be all that bad if he is. “Unless you’re offering to pay the other.”

“I’d love to.” The guy chuckles. “I’m Eccarius, ninth Earl of Saxon-On-Thames.”

Cass can’t help but stare. “Great…I’m Cassidy, drunk bloke.”

They’re in a bar in no time, sipping on ginger ale, of course its doused in red light and is full of beautiful individuals. The conversation leads nowhere really, just to staring and Cass’ hot flushes like he’s a menopausal mortal woman. He finds out shortly after that finding another vampire in New Orleans was not as difficult as he’d realised.

  
Speaking his thoughts, he asks “So, how do you get laid? You’re like a weird George Washington-slash-Dracula lovechild.”

Eccarius, surprisingly, laughs at the question. His fangs flash in the light and Cass has never found another vampire so attractive before. He’s also surprised when he gets the modest answer of: “I do alright.”

After already failing to hit on about three women the whole night, Eccarius shows him his other “powers” on a woman across the bar and makes out with her right in front of him.

His gut sank in a way, but he flares up like a bad wound when the dad of said woman shows up and he joins in on the strangest but weirdly hot three-say lip contact.

All that comes out of Cass’ mouth is a weak “I’m impressed”.

“That’s how I realised you were one of us.” Eccarius admits as he holds open the door for him. “Tried to lure you in but you ignored it.”

“To be fair mate, I thought you were some cosplaying basement-dweller.” Cass downs the rest of his drink. He receives an understanding nod in agreement. “Not to be crude or anythin’ but are you lookin’ for a shag or are you takin’ me on a date?”

The man grins. “Well, that all depends, doesn’t it?”


	3. Chapter 3

What ends the night is a quick hand-job in the bathroom and a promise to call later. Cass’ fingers fiddle with the card in his pocket as he boils some blood over the stove whilst swaying to The Kinks on the radio. Tulip’s sitting at the breakfast table flipping through a newspaper, circling job offers in the columns like they did in the olden times.

“Minimum wage ain’t gonna do shit in this house.” She mutters.

Cass hums in agreement. “You don’t have ’t worry about paying maintenance or shit like that. This house’s been in the family since Granddaddy Cassidy.”

“Jesse and I wanted to go out tonight, you coming?” She sips her coffee.

“Dunno.” He replies, shrugging. “Maybe? I went out yesterday.”

“Oh yeah. You came back barely before dawn.” Her eyebrows lower. She eyes the way his shoulders droop, his shoulder blades protrude through his this thin stained shirt. “What were you doin’ out that late?”

He feels the heat track up the back of his neck. “I-uh—you know me! Drugs, alcohol, women! And men, but mostly women!”

“Uh-huh.” Tulip isn’t convinced. She flicks her newspaper straight and leans back. Jesse walks through the front door carrying a paper bag, which clinks as he sets it down on the counter. Tulip gets up and peeks inside the bag. “That dinner?”

“Best Gumbo in this side of N’Orleans.” He grins. Tulip makes an excited sound and begins unpacking the bag. “Oh Cassidy, didn’t see you get home.”

“Yes, yes, still my undead self.” Cass jokes, pouring the now hot blood into his designated porcelain mug with a black cat. “Already got a nagging off of mother.”

“E’scuse me, I did not nag you.” Tulip protests, thrusting her hands onto her hips. “You wanna burn up, you burn up.”

“What were you doin’ out alone?” Jesse asks. “You didn’t…y’know…feed…”

Cass pretends he’s not as offended as he is by Jesse assuming he’d suddenly lost control all because they’ve finally settled down. He shakes his head, makes an excuse of “I was high” and heads out to the balcony to smoke.

He pulls out the card Eccarius had handed him. It was thick, good quality, with gold pint letters. Les Enfants Du Sang, and an address. He thumbs the phone number underneath, considering for a moment.

There’s nothing he can actually do, he realises. No job, obviously, books were tedious, and hobbies were for sad people. All I can do is fuck, drink, and die, he thinks to himself.

So, Cassidy sides his phone out his pocket and dials the number. It eventually rings out and he gives up.

They leave New Orleans without much notice, or well, Jesse decided he wanted to go see family and no one told Cassidy until hours before departure. If he’d known exactly the type of gombeen group of assholes they were he’d have lit the blunt he had stored in his jean jacket.

 **Of course, it takes only a** couple of days when they’re in trouble again: Jesse and Tulip had managed to piss off that local family who just so happened to have an arsenal equip to take down a small army. It’s Cassidy that gets shot through the shoulder and Tulip who gets a graze on her temple.

Cass, even in a lucid state due to the blood loss, accepts TC’s toxic concoction like oxygen, Jesse notes, watching him inhale deeply, hold, and exhale the herbal vaper through his nose. He makes vague sounds of pleasure as he slowly taken over by the fumes, slumping his head back. He’s lain in the bathtub of a hotel—it’d been too risky to head back to the house—blood staining the porcelain.

“Fuck.” He mutters to himself, over and over. His voice is becoming more slurred, eyelids drooping. “I do love hemlock, y’know. Love hemlock.” 

“Is there anything you’ve never smoked?” Jesse asks, slight teasing lilt to his voice. He’s stood leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.

“Tea tree oils, surprisingly. A vegan—nasty buggers—tried to get me on it. Cannae even get high! Fuck clear skin—” he goes on until the blunt is burnt down to a nub.

Jesse goes to sit on the bed to examine the wound closer after TC leaves. It’s closed mostly. “That’s you. You’ll have to avoid getting shot for a while, y’know. If you can help it.”

“Oh aye. Bullet magnet—I’ve been shot a lot, stabbed y’know. Long before I met you two.”

“Not surprised.”

“I got cut _in half_ once, can you believe it? Jealous husband.” His hand cradles his midsection idly. “Sneaky bastard snuck up behind me with a samurai sword.”

“I’m sure you deserved it.” Jesse jokes.

Cass nods, eyes distant. “ _And_ there was this jealous wife this one time, right? Shot straight through me and it killed her husband. Who was blowing me!” He starts laughing. “If irony had a patron saint...”

Jesse, put out by the sudden coming out, nods slowly. “You make a habit of going after the married ones then?”

He’s not concerned, or disgusted: you’d expect that from your common Texan parishioner, but he’d seen enough of the world—well, America—to know better than small-town mentality. He realises then that Cassidy’s seen much more of the world over a longer period. He’d served in wars for God’s sake.

Cass’ eyes are closed fully before he can even mouth his answer. Jesse leaves Cass and heads down to the kitchen and pours a whiskey into a mug.


	4. Chapter 4

Cassidy sucked on his straw absently whilst flipping through magazines. He savoured this one since it was his third last and probably would only last until Pasadena if they run into more trouble. He was interrupted by Jesse at the door.

Jesse stares, obviously tired, at the blood bag in his hands. “Cass, if they find out you’re a vampire—"

Cass rolls his eyes and sucks harder passively, flipping another page. He earns the expected response of frustration.

“Look, I know you get touchy w’this, I know. I’m not happy either…it’s just that…” he rubs the back of his head and sits down on the bed at Cass’ knees. “Truth is, you’re my best friend and I probably don’t say that enough.”

“You’ve never said that.” Cass shakes his head, honestly not being able to digest what was said.

“Sure, I have.” Jesse insists, face screwing up. _Never_ , Cass thinks. The thought itches at him, though that might be him healing. “I must’ve, a bunch of times.”

They sit in silence for a beat, then two. Jesse gives in with a sigh. He walks over to the window and remembers Jody was waiting on him in the truck.

“Look, you gotta get out of here—” he turns to Cassidy, looks at him with a look of sudden betrayal, of misunderstanding hurt, but his reply is a look of desperation which only makes things worse. Cass, suddenly, feels cheated: _Jesse just wants me away from Tulip_. Or worse yet: _He doesn’t want me around him_.

“Jey-sus.” Cass breathes, eyes heavy set and accusing. He knows now that those words, “best friend”, meant nothing. That moment of care in his eyes were lies. Just a _trick_.  “You’ll do anything to get me away from her.”

“No—”

“Or is it you want to get away from me? Oh yeah, vampirism was an _inconvenience_ but the gay thing—”

Jesse runs a hand through his hair. “No. _No_. This isn’t about her, or me, or _you_. It’s about them. You’ve seen the pictures. You _know_ what my family do here. It’s worse than _Salem_.”

“Bullshit! I’m a bloody vampire at VooDoo Disneyland.” He spits, “I should be their main attraction!”

“Magic is _one_ thing, _monsters_ are another—” Jesse’s hands rest on his hips and there’s a pause as he realises how that sounded, how _bad_ , and the look in Cass’ eyes tells him it’s been received as such. He exhales slowly. “I didn’t…I don’t _think_ that.”

“It’s all a strange coincidence, ‘a feel.” Cass says quietly. “A damn coincidence that only now _I’m_ becoming the problem—”

“Cassidy for fuck’s sake, I’m not saying you’re a monster and I don’t hate you for _who_ or _what_ you are. I need to go and so do you.” He storms over to the nightstand, and before Cass can register whats happening Jesse stabs him in his half-healed wound. The pain sends his body into shock, he gasps and lets out a strangled moan of pain.

“If you’re gonna stay, it’s gonna hurt.”

 

After Jesse and Tulip head out, Cass heads for a shower. He runs it hot until the fog clouds the window and the mirror, where he can’t see his sickly form. The TV in the bedroom plays the Top Hits from the 70’s, a blur of music to Cassidy’s ears as he’s busy smoking a joint—one hand is stuck outside of the spray. He feels his body relax for the first time in a while, tight muscles loosening up as he sighs deeply.

He’s startled suddenly by his phone going off beside him. He picks it up, answering with “I almost shit myself.”

“Oh dear, I hope you’re not in public.” Eccarius’ voice drifted through, a smile clear in his tone. “Apologies, Cassidy, you called during sleeping hours.”

Of course, Cass feels sort of idiotic, of course he’d been asleep.

“No bother, really…so…I called?”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Indeed, you did.” The man agrees. “I guess this answers your shag or date question.”

Cass swallows thickly. Oh god, he thinks. They sit in more silence. He doesn’t know if its panic that’s fluttering in his chest, he takes another drag from his joint anyway, or whether he genuinely is thrilled by the idea of a man being interested in him.

He breathes, slowly, and clears his throat.

“Guess it’s my turn to take you out.” He suggests, and the reply is a hum of agreement. He shivers. “Although, we broke my no sex on the first date rule.”

“You had that rule?” the smug bastard chimes.

“No, but I’m allowed to pretend I’m classy.” Cass fiddles with the end of a towel.

He thinks to Jesse, for just a moment, remembers the sharp sickening pain of his wound reopening and thinks to himself: _you’re not wanted here_. So he decides. “You free in like three days?”

“I actually am.” Eccarius shifts around. “How about you come by Les Enfants Du Sang estate, and I show you how vampires in New Orleans have fun?”


	5. Chapter 5

They visit a clearly gay bar in the red-light district, quite a bit away from the _Les Enfants Du Sang_ house.

 

Cassidy pays for the first two rounds drinks, interesting sugar-based cocktails and bubbly liqueur. They chat, reminisce, grow physically closer as the night draws on. Cass pretends to be alright with Eccarius letting random gentlemen check him out, even going so far as to flirt back— _god, he has to gain some control_. In retaliation, he gains the attention of a pretty girl, kisses her fluidly which the same amount of passion the other man had the first time they’d visited a bar. He thinks he feels Eccarius’ gaze, and he flushes all over at the thought of it. Cassidy tries to pull that off again, this time a failure: a woman thrusts her martini glass over his shirt, staining his COWBOY shirt and blazer red. How fitting for a vampire. 

Eccarius is wiping the tears from his eyes as he guides Cassidy by the elbow onto the street. "To be fair to you, dearest Cassidy, I know how you feel." 

"Oh really." He rolls his eyes. "You weren't always good at the fuckin' goo-goo-hypno eyes?" 

Eccarius only chuckles, eyes crinkling at the corners. Cass can’t help but glance down at the flash of sharp white canines just under his top lip. When their eyes meet another hot flush pass over him, and he looks away.

“You can’t go around sopping wet now. You can come back to my home and…clean up.”

The tone drop Eccarius finishes with makes Cassidy shiver, and of course he accepts.

Upon meeting the _Les Enfants Du Sang_. Cass had immediately wished for God himself in his shiny kinky dog-suit to come down and fucking _smite_ him because he’d had enough with loonies. The dark room, candles, shitty piano, _black and red_ , like the Fuseli and Dorian Gray puked all over the basement. He stands in the far corner where the drier is currently spinning his clothes.

 “Mrs Rosen doesn’t allow smoking down here.” Eccarius said as he glided over.

Cass gives him a good look over with a vague pleading look, however, there’s an alluring aura about the man which seems to be his primary tool in luring in, well, tools, and he puts the cigarette out on the drier-top, and fully faces the man. Eccarius watches him with a bemused smile—his constant state, by the way—and dances his fingers about the frills of the nightgown. “You should wear elderly women’s garments more often.” He teased.

“Didn’t peg you for the old-lady-kinky type, maybe wax? French poetry? Not old ladies.” Cass mutters, but only amuses the man further. “What’s all this then, anyway?”

“Mrs Rosen’s one of us. She runs this house sort of like a brothel-cum-diner.” Eccarius says, glancing around. “Willing Bleeders. Some are aroused by the idea, which brings the brothel part.”

“So, what, you openly host a vampire B&B?”

“Oh, no. Very few know of this place, and many don’t remember being used for feeding.” Cass nods. “It’s incredibly humane, I might add. However, some to come hoping to be Turned…”

Cass makes a pained sound. “Please don’t tell me you’re building some sort of coven or some shite—”

“Again, no, I have to make a full detailed assessment of the individual first. Most don’t stick around long enough though.” Eccarius smiles. “I do hope you stay, for a while I mean.”

He blushes. “I can’t…stay I mean. I’m living with a couple of friends.”

“Oh!” the man’s eyes light up. “Are they like us?”

“Uh no…one’s a preacher? And his girlfriend?” Cass shrugs his shoulders. “They’re not interested in this sorta stuff. Best to keep them out of it.”

“I understand,” it sounds sincere. “I’d love it if you came here again. Often.”

“Look mate, I can’t. We ain’t alike. I’m happy with my arrangement…I just-I just don’t like this sort of thing.” He avoids looking at Eccarius, feels around for his pack of cigarettes out of habit. “I need to head back soon. It’ll be dawn in a few hours.”

“Please, Cassidy. Don’t leave.” The man pleads.

 “Why do you need me?” Cass tries to snap, but he’s too confused. “Y-y-you’ve got this _thing_ going on here, and it’s clearly working out for you—”

“I’m looking for someone…a friend, companion. Aren’t you?” Eccarius’ eyes are desperate, he can see the centuries of loneliness behind them, as well as himself, probably how he looked at Jesse. _Best friend_ echoed in his mind, but he dismisses it, and walks out.

 Wallowing in self-pity was a century-long practise for Cass. Tulip had called up and almost let it all slip, how he’d finally met someone _like_ him, but…not _like_ him. Words came difficult, and he tried to fix his tone to seem indifferent somehow. Pretend he wasn’t hurt by Eccarius or hurt by how _happy_ she sounded without him. Sitting on the floor of an alley with his back resting against a dumpster seemed like a fitting scene for him to suffer. He evened his breathing, not knowing whether he was going to cry or have an anxiety attack.

For once, he was envious of fucking _Jesse_. Got the family (even if they are killers), got the girl, the looks, the sense of purpose…living was a coward’s move when you’re a vampire, it seemed. He fights off tears when hanging up, feeling as though this was the official cutting of ties, that he was finally alone.


	6. Chapter 6

Somehow, Cass had expected a “So you’ve come crawling back?” comment upon returning to the pseudo-cult. He was met with a sweet old lady he’d admitted to smoking crack to and scoffed down half a tray of blondies whilst getting the full formal-informal introduction of all the members.

He selected the least gothic-looking outfit, settling for a look consisting of a mix between Charlie Chaplin, a vintage coal-train fireman, and a member of Twenty-One Pilots. He got on well with the groupies—sharing stories of the roaring 60’s, avoiding any talk of the AIDs crisis or the fact he was present at Stonewall. Best to stick to the drugs and music; it’s all anyone really remembers.

Eccarius glides in, with a suave and coy tilt to his lips. “I have something to show you.”

“Alright.” Cass followed him out the room, a hint of giddiness in his stomach. He slides his hands into his pockets as he examines what’s in front of him. “Coffins. Those are some big coffins.”

“Standard size. New Orleans.” Eccarius says with a hint of pride, then points. “ _That one_ , is for you.” He shows an obvious amount of dislike towards the idea of sleeping in a coffin of all things. “Of course, only when you wish to stay here.” The man adds, “Which I hope you do.”

Cas rests a hand briefly on the man’s arm, “Thanks, this was really thoughtful.”

He examines the room for a moment, then realises that if he accepted…he’d _share_ the room with Eccarius. Again, a hot feeling passed through him and he avoided Eccarius’ eyes.

God. He’s got to get that under control.

Later, after the groupies have an evening of drink and music, some going off in pairs to seek privacy, Cass is left alone on the steps to the basement. He put his head in his hands and sighed loudly. He can hear the commotion upstairs, and he remembers the big rule of the house: no drugs. Great. Now what?

He hears a door open behind him. “Do you wish to get out of here?” Eccarius asks.

Later, they both stroll through the city, shoulders grazing every so often.

“The flying’s coming along.” Eccarius reassures him, then chuckles; “But the mesmerising?”

Cassidy blushes. “Alright, alright, so I’m not a magical catch. I’ll tell you what, mate: you’re making fun of me, a man who’s off his face off one glass of bloody absinthe?”

“It was a glass and a half actually.” The man replies with a façade of pride. “Maybe we’ve both been doing the vampire-thing wrong. Been on this planet for over three hundred years, and I’d never done a bong hit until tonight.”

“That’s pitiful.” Cass teases. “I teach an absolute masterclass in angel dust, you know.”

“Well, that’s because you’re a junkie nonpareil, Cassidy.”

They stop, and Cass feels defensive. He turns to look as Eccarius, eyebrows knitting into a frown.

“A wonton, riotous, junkie.” The man inhales slowly, and Cass becomes embarrassed, catching on this he was actually inhaling _him_. “And I love it.”

Before thinking, he takes a step closer to Eccarius, so they are barely inches apart. His breath shudders under the weight of his stare.

“Look…me friends…” Cassidy sighs, eyes taking in every detail of the man’s face. “the people I got caught up in…we’re up to no good, ’n there’s people after me, specifically.” He fights to step back. “I’ve got to go.”

“No, you don’t.” Eccarius grabs his arm firmly, his voice comes out so deep Cass’ knees get weak. “Cassidy, they won’t just be coming after you. They’ll be coming after us.”

It’s a statement. A promise. Stronger than Jesse’s words. This he’s sure of, Eccarius _is there_ , is _willing_ to fight with him. And that was enough for Cass, as he leaned forward and kissed the man before him. His soft, deep, full of cradling arms and heavy breaths.

The next morning, Cassidy woke up to lips on his throat—a change for one—and a caressing hand on his chest. He smacks his lips and opens his eyes to Eccarius. He’s laying by him, shirtless, obviously just awoken. They smile at each other before surging into a kiss of teeth and tongue. The lid of the coffin lowers over the two as Eccarius straddles him.

Something that Cassidy hadn’t had in so long was a loving touch: Eccarius took his sweet time, teasing by licking and sucking down his chest, targeting sensitive spots. He stops at the almost fully healed bullet wound and raises an eyebrow.

“I’m a dangerous man.” Cass jokes. The response he receives is his fly being undone, and Eccarius’ warm and gentle caress on his cock. He lets out a breathy moan, relaxing fully into the velvet cushions of the coffin. He takes Cass throat—the angle’s uncomfortable for the topping man but he makes no complaints—and swallows. His grip in Eccarius’ hair tightens, and he pulls. “C’mon, c’mon, I want to go further this time.”

The sound of Cass’ wrecked voice was enough to convince him.


End file.
